Like You Know
by Lila2
Summary: Chuck kisses his best friend’s girl like he’s been doing it his entire life.


**Title:** "Like You Know"

**Author:** Lila

**Rating:** R

**Character/Pairing:** Chuck, Chuck/Blair, Chuck/Nate

**Spoiler:** "Victor/Victrola"

**Length:** one-shot

**Summary:** Chuck kisses his best friend's girl like he's been doing it his entire life.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

**Author's Note:** My latest attempt at breaking my fanfic writer's block. I know I owe chapters of about a million other things, but this fic helped me get back in the groove, and I think that's a good sign and a step in the right direction. I'd really appreciate feedback because I feel very rusty and would love helpful suggestions. Title and cut courtesy of Film School. Enjoy.

* * *

When you kiss Blair, it's Nate that you taste. 

It's there, clinging to the wet softness of her tongue, the tangy hint of weed and weakness and wallowing in self-pity that bites into your soul the way her teeth sink into your bottom lip. It hurts a little and you'd be surprised if she were anyone but Blair, because it's her first time and she's not supposed to know what she's doing, but the bitter taste of iron masks the remnants of your best friend and you just open your mouth wider and let her in. For a moment, you forget the girl you're kissing used to belong to the person you love most in the world. For a moment, you think it really is Nate's mouth pressing open and wet against yours, licking you clean and filling you up.

Except the hair twining between your fingers is too long and too soft, and her bones poke almost painfully through the thin coating of skin and satin, and when her jaw scrapes against yours it's all smooth silkiness and doesn't prickle your skin.

You blink, just once, and when your eyes focus again they're locked on hers and she's watching you through a haze of escape. She looks like herself, all sharp angles and dark shadows, but you see the same cage reflected in her eyes. The limo is money and all that comes with it, all the reasons Nate _wants_ to be with her and none of the reasons he _should _be with her. The car creeps up Fifth Avenue, and the harsh florescent lights paint cruel patterns across Blair's pale skin, and she looks dingy and used up, like she's been chewed up and spat back out. You've seen that look before, every time Nate's showed up stoned and desperate at your bedroom door after the Captain let him down again. You only kiss her harder and slip your hands under the hem of her slip the way you used to slip your hands under the hem of Nate's sweater when he'd fall into your arms and you'd make it all better.

When she pulls back to look in your eyes, you don't ask the question again because you know what to do. You know how to do it. You're twelve-years-old and the Captain has lost a deal and spent the night reaming out Nate's mom, and he's shown up at your doorstep crying and broken and convinced his life is over. You can taste the same fears in the mouth singeing yours. Your fingers move across her skin and they press, gently, right where her shoulder meets her neck. When she moans into your mouth, you can see the same ecstasy moving across Nate's preteen face.

You kiss her and taste him and make her forget.

-----

Blair is more brittle than Nate, and when your fingers skim over her bare skin you don't want to press too hard, press too close, because you're afraid if she opens her eyes and looks – really looks – she'll realize she's clinging to the wrong dark-haired boy. You're not ready to lose her, not quite yet, not when she feels different and familiar all at once, not when you can taste everything you can't have with every flick of her tongue against yours. Your hands move higher, over the hot skin of her thighs, and slip between them, caught between slick, wet heat and the coarse wool of your pants. You're hard and tight all over and when you flick your wrist, just the tiniest bit, she whimpers a little at the back of her throat, the way Nate does right before he comes, and her hips settle over yours, softness against hardness.

You groan into her hair and you do it again, and again, and she's moaning again and it's delicate and feminine and there's nothing hard about it. Her fingers are fumbling at the zipper of your pants and you're fourteen-years-old and you drank too much to walk let alone get out of your jeans, and Nate's hands tremble a bit from too much Kettle One as they close over the zipper and pull tight denim down your knees. Her fingers are long and thin, and the nails click against the metal of the zipper as she slides it down and slips her hands inside. You half expect calluses from long games of lacrosse in the park, and while the fingers wrapping around you are smooth and soft, they shake slightly in the darkness.

When you kiss her again, you're the one to close your eyes and escape.

-----

You flick your wrist again and it's hotter and wetter and tighter than before. She's ready, more ready than she's ever been, and you know it's not like any other time. You've never had a thing for blondes, and you've never been one to keep secrets. When your pants hit your knees and her slip is rucked up over her stomach like one of your dancers, it's about anything but her best friend. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with anyone's best friend.

You've never been anyone's first time before and you can't stop watching the look in her eyes. It's dark as the car climbs north, so dark you can't tell if they're brown or if they're blue. They shift and change with every block you cross and you watch them water with pain and narrow with concentration, and round with wonder as she shifts her hips just a tiny bit and a groan hisses between your lips as your eyes slide towards the back of your head.

When you open your eyes again there's something sparking in hers, and you don't recognize how alive they suddenly seem. A smirk plays across her lips as she shifts her hips again, and again, and you're no longer the one with the experience. You're thirteen-years-old and Nate's asking what it's like, and you laugh in his face because the last thing you can ever see happening is prim Blair Waldorf spreading her legs for anyone, even an Archibald. He asks again and you try to explain, but your words catch in your mouth because the look in his eyes is so dead and blank it takes your breath away.

You struggle to catch your breath as she shifts again and your eyes round at the pulsing life glinting in hers. Laughter rings in your ears and it's hers, because she sees the look in your eyes, and she takes advantage of the moment to choose the pace and push you back against slick leather and kiss you so hard you forget to breathe. Your tongue twines around hers and you taste a break up on her tongue. When your eyes lock with hers, the streetlights show only liquid chocolate staring back at you. When your fingers dig into the flesh of her hips and you pull her closer, sink into her deeper, the only person on your mind is exactly who she is.

-----

Afterwards, you're both tired and she sprawls across your chest as the streetlights paint glimmering pictures across her skin. Her cheek is tucked into the curve of your throat, and she's warm and soft against you. You close your eyes as a light washes over your face and you're fourteen-years-old and the morning sun is stinging your eyes and Nate's bare chest is pressed against yours. It's an awkward fit, and his nose jabs into your shoulder hard enough to bruise and you can't feel your left foot. Booze and regret cling to the air, but you breathe in and pull him closer because it isn't supposed to be. When he leaves an hour later, it's with a sheepish grin and promises that it will never happen again. He keeps his word and starts dating Blair Waldorf a week later.

Blair says the same, but you know it's a lie when she tucks herself into the cradle of your arms and runs her foot up the length of your left calf. You pull her closer and hold her tighter and breathe her in. She smells like sex and satisfaction but nothing like regret. You like the feeling.

When you kiss her goodnight, it's only Blair that you taste.

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